If You Want To Feel At Home,

I Tried To Use The Questions And Answers As An Armature On Which To Build A Sculpture Of Genuine Conversation

Wine Is Poetry In A Bottle.

To Divide One's Life By Years Is Of Course To Tumble Into A Trap Set By Our Own Arithmetic. The Calendar Consents To Carry On Its Dull Wall-existence By The Arbitrary Timetables We Have Drawn Up In Consultation With Those Permanent Commuters, Earth And Sun. But We, Unlike Trees, Need Grow No Annual Rings.

If Food Is The Body Of Good Living, Wine Is Its Soul.

A Cheese May Disappoint. It May Be Dull, It May Be Naive, It May Be Oversophisticated. Yet It Remains Cheese, Milk's Leap Toward Immortality.